A Viscount's Proposal

  There again was that appealing audacity of hers. His heart did an odd sort of leap in his chest.

  This was nonsense. He was behaving like a schoolboy, and he hadn’t behaved like a schoolboy even when he was one. He did his best to frown severely at her.

  “No, no, it’s gone again. Perhaps I imagined it.”

  Impertinence.

  She laughed, a startling but delightful sound, like bubbles bursting in sunlight.

  Egads. He was becoming something he’d never been fond of—a poet.

  “Don’t be cross with me, my lord.” She seemed to make an effort to stop laughing. “Forgive me. You are so very dignified, it’s only that . . .” She stopped and shook her head, still smiling, and walked toward him, holding out the book. “Won’t you please humor me and read this novel? Read Sense and Sensibility?”

  “You were searching for it so that your friends might read it. I am sure they will enjoy it far more than I would.”

  “Nonsense. They can read it later, after you. Besides, we have other activities to keep us occupied, and you are confined to the house. You must read it first and tell us what you think of it.”

  Would she truly want to know what he thought of it? Again she had stepped in front of the window, with the full light of the morning sun on her face. Her eyes were intent on his as she took another step closer, holding the book out to him.

  “Very well.” He reached out and took it, careful not to let his fingers touch hers. “But I warn you that I shall be brutally honest in my assessment of it.”

  She smiled wider, amusement in her eyes. “I shall expect no less.”

  Edward sat in the drawing room with the rest of the household the next day. Rain fell against the windows as a storm kept them all indoors. The ladies were sitting quietly, doing some sort of needlework. Even Leorah was engaged in a similar domestic activity.

  Edward had been reading for the last hour while the rest of the family and Miss Langdon’s two guests talked quietly. It was the picture of tranquility, but Edward, his legs stretched before him on the couch and covered with a blanket like an elderly invalid, was anything but tranquil.

  He could contain himself no longer. “Willoughby is a cad of the first order.”

  Leorah looked up from the work in her lap. “Pardon me?”

  “Willoughby. Willoughby in Sense and Sensibility.”

  Understanding dawned on her face.

  “I despise him as if he were a real person, and as if Marianne and Elinor were my sisters. Is this common with novels?”

  “Only with the good ones.” Miss Langdon added eagerly, “Willoughby is a cad. He was all the more wicked because he seemed such a good-natured person. I was quite surprised when he turned out to be so bad. How far along are you in the book?”

  “I am nearly to the end.” He opened the book once more.

  “You like the novel, then?” Miss Langdon’s voice was tentative.

  “I cannot say until I reach the end.” If it ended badly, he could tell her that it had been a waste of his time, as he had suspected. But if the story ended as well as it had begun and progressed, then he’d be forced, in all honesty, to say quite the opposite.

  He allowed himself a glance in her direction. She was biting her bottom lip, attempting to hide her smile, but she did so poorly. Her companions, Felicity and Elizabeth Mayson, were doing what appeared to be fine embroidery, but Leorah was working with an entirely different material. He wasn’t normally so curious, but he asked her, “What are you making there?”

  She looked up. “It is a wool blanket. I am knitting.” She had that defiant glint in her eye.

  “Knitting a blanket?” It was not the sort of work most genteel young ladies engaged in, but at least it was practical and useful.

  “For the children at the Children’s Aid Mission.” Her brows flicked up momentarily, as though she dared him to say anything derogatory, then she went back to work, bending over her lapful of lavender yarn.

  Leorah Langdon making blankets for poor children. The fact that she was a novel reader he expected, but he hadn’t anticipated that she would knit blankets for the poor. Even Hannah More herself would approve of that.

  He went back to reading before he said something that would confuse them both.

  Half an hour later, he closed the book. Leorah looked up from her work and, ignoring the conversation around her, asked, “What did you think of Sense and Sensibility?”

  Her eyes were wide and bright with obvious excitement.

  He nodded. “I was pleasantly surprised. It was a very worthwhile story, and I believe anyone could learn something from it, or at least use it to have a healthy discussion about proper behavior.”

  She laughed, the same melodic sound she’d made the day before in the library, only softer and a little repressed, as if she were trying not to disturb Mrs. Langdon and the Miss Maysons. He found himself wishing she would not stifle the sound.

  “Why do you laugh?”

  “I was only wondering if you had enjoyed the novel, if the story entertained you, and you were thinking about how it could be useful. But that is good.” She held her hand up, as if to stop his protest. “I am happy to hear you say you were pleasantly surprised. It is enough for me.” She folded her hands over her chest and bowed her head.

  “You may tease if you like, but I approve of this author. If she publishes any more books, I believe I should like to read them.”

  “As would I. Imagine it, Lord Withinghall. We have just agreed upon something.”

  “Utterly amazing.”

  She continued to smile at him. Felicity Mayson asked Miss Langdon a question, drawing her attention to whatever it was they were discussing.

  He was being foolish, staring at her, thinking about her so much. He didn’t remember thinking about Miss Augusta Norbury this much. But shouldn’t he be sensible and choose a sensible wife? Of course he should. Miss Langdon was not the sort of wife he’d ever imagined for himself. He would forget about her as soon as Miss Norbury arrived. He must.

  “Lord Withinghall is finished with the book, are you not?” Leorah was looking at him again, as were the other ladies in the room.

  He lifted the book toward her.

  Miss Langdon stood, laying aside her half-knitted blanket. He handed her the book, and she turned and gave it to Felicity Mayson. “You will enjoy this story, I assure you, Felicity. Even Lord Withinghall enjoyed it.” She turned back to him. “But we shan’t tell anyone you were reading novels, Lord Withinghall, if you prefer we keep it a secret.”

  He did not deign to reply to her remark. Perhaps he should not have let her think he enjoyed it. “Would you mind sending for a manservant to help me back to my room?”

  “Not at all. And I have other novels you might enjoy.” Her delicate brows lifted in that baiting manner of hers.

  “No, thank you. I have important things to attend to. My steward shall arrive at any moment to help me with matters of business. I’m afraid I shall have no more time to waste on reading novels.”

  “A shame that you have no time for it.”

  He recognized the teasing look in her eye, and her mock pity made him want to leave her with some sort of retort. But everything he could think of to say seemed either mean-spirited or just the sort of thing that would amuse her.

  The servant held his wheeled chair while he stood on one foot and sat down. Then the servant pushed his chair out of the room, and Edward left, annoyed at himself for not being able to get the last word, and even more annoyed for giving it a second thought.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  A few weeks later, Leorah rode across from her brother in his carriage to the political rally in nearby Alford.

  “You did not have to come with me, you know.”

  Nicholas only raised his brows at her. “In light of what happened a couple of weeks ago, I thought it best. You need more than just a servant.”

  “Who knows what people will be saying about me next. Is that it
?”

  He smiled. “Julia wanted to come, but she was not feeling well.”

  “Nothing serious, I hope.”

  “Just a stomach complaint. I think she’ll be well by the time we get home. Tomorrow we plan to view an estate west of here.”

  “To let? Or to buy?”

  “To buy.”

  Of course Nicholas would want to purchase his own estate. But it was hard to imagine Glyncove Abbey without him.

  “How far is it?”

  “Only twenty miles.”

  Their older brother, Jonathan; his wife, Isabella; and their baby, Marianne, would be returning from London in a fortnight, after their shopping trip.

  “I’m sorry you had to accompany me. I’m sure you’d rather be at home.”

  “You don’t think I’ll enjoy the political rally?”

  “A rally about girls’ education? I didn’t know it was an interest of yours.”

  “Of course. Wilson and I have spoken many times about the education of our girls. He and Mrs. Wilson have a lot of good ideas on the subject.”

  If Leorah could find a man as good and upright as her brother, compassionate and interested in the welfare of others . . . But that was not very likely. She’d never met anyone as good.

  The rally seemed peaceful enough as she exited the carriage. People were making their way toward a small platform. Many were talking quietly with each other. When they saw Leorah and Nicholas walking their way, they stared, and several of the bluestockings that Leorah had encountered at other rallies acknowledged her.

  Leorah went over and began speaking with the ladies, and one said, “Did you hear? Hannah More is to be present. They say she will be speaking and announcing the opening of a new school for girls in the building behind us.”

  While Leorah absorbed this news, Nicholas began talking with a small group of men who had escorted the ladies hence—fathers and brothers, some of whom appeared none too happy to be there.

  A few minutes later, one young lady looked up and whispered, “Is that the viscount?”

  Leorah turned to see Lord Withinghall stepping out of a large black carriage, a much smaller splint on his injured leg, while supporting himself with two walking sticks.

  What was he doing here? At a rally for girls’ education? His leg had not had time to heal, according to the doctors, and she had not seen him up and walking since the accident.

  Nicholas approached him and they talked. Leorah wished she knew what they were saying.

  “It’s her! Hannah More! She’s here!”

  An older lady with white hair, strong features, and a sharp eye, Hannah More was indeed striding toward the stage. Leorah had met her once at a rally just outside of London, but she did not imagine Miss More remembered her.

  Lord Withinghall and Nicholas began walking toward the stage, slowly, to accommodate the viscount’s slow pace. Leorah pretended not to see them and turned to watch Hannah More step onto the stage and prepare to speak.

  Leorah tried to listen to the adored authoress as she enumerated the benefits of a proper education for girls, no matter their social or economic status. She also spoke of the evil results of a frivolous education—embroidery, manners, a smattering of modern languages, music, and painting—which are a shallow mind and a superficiality that women were often accused of and berated for.

  Leorah truly wished to support the school. Girls of the lower and middle classes needed a way to better themselves, and to earn a way of supporting themselves as teachers or in whatever other profession for which they might educate themselves. And how could they do this without a school?

  Was Lord Withinghall in agreement with his adored Miss Hannah More? Did he support a school for middle-class girls? Or was he there to criticize the effort and agree with most men of the aristocracy that girls of the lower classes needed no academic education, that women should marry and stay at home, keeping house and caring for children?

  She turned her head and watched him. He was nearly a head taller than anyone around him, even Nicholas. And he was turning to glance at her at the very same moment, so their eyes met.

  Leorah quickly looked away. Why was the man here? Was he only attending the rally because of his adoration for Miss Hannah More?

  Miss More spoke on for several more minutes and then began asking, “Who amongst us would be willing to contribute to the education of the girls of this village? Who would sacrifice so that these girls might have a better life, a more enlightened and vigorous and useful life?”

  Leorah had some money in her small purse, a few months’ pin money that she had been saving for just such an occasion. When Miss Hannah More herself held out a small wooden box, Leorah stepped forward with her money in her hand and placed it inside. Others stepped forward too, but only a few of the fifty or more people in attendance.

  Most of those in the crowd were probably the family members of the girls who hoped to attend the school. None of them looked any too wealthy.

  “I pledge one thousand pounds.”

  Leorah turned to see who had spoken. People gasped. Lord Withinghall stepped forward.

  “Lord Withinghall.” Hannah More gave him a respectful bow. “That is very generous and will be gratefully accepted by the well-qualified teachers who are prepared to move into the building just behind me. With your contribution, they can begin classes as early as next week.”

  The viscount bowed his head as everyone began murmuring and then clapping their hands.

  “How wonderful!” one of the young ladies stated. “A viscount who cares about the education of young village girls.”

  “Astonishing,” said another.

  Leorah was too surprised to speak. She stared at Lord Withinghall until he looked at her and nodded. She nodded back.

  Leorah sighed as she perused the guest list. Nicholas and Julia had invited quite a few people for a house party, including Miss Augusta Norbury and her aunt. Some of the guests might stay a month or more at such events, but Leorah hoped Augusta would not stay nearly that long.

  A month or even a fortnight was a long time to have to share her house with so many people, some of them virtual strangers. But at least she had Felicity, Elizabeth, and Julia to lessen the tedium of the more tiresome guests. And Lord Withinghall had returned to his own home on the other side of the county after the rally, so it had been several days since she’d seen him. He would, of course, be at the party in order to court Miss Norbury and put to rest any rumors about himself and Leorah.

  Ever since the rally she had wanted to ask the viscount why on earth he had given such a large sum of money for a girls’ school. Was it simply to impress his favorite author, Miss Hannah More? It must undoubtedly be that, for she could not believe he was so interested in the education of girls.

  Lord Withinghall was such a confusing, exasperating creature! Even more so than most men, to whom she rarely gave a second thought.

  As the maid brushed her hair and began arranging it for dinner, Leorah stared at herself in the mirror while listening to Felicity and Elizabeth talking in their bedchamber next door. She had much rather devote herself to her two friends and her sister-in-law than entertain so many guests. But it was all in the name of trying to repair her reputation.

  The men would spend their time shooting and riding, and the women would stroll around the gardens, read, gossip, and do fancy needlework. There would be two formal balls, for which they would invite the gentry of the surrounding area, and there would be card playing and music every night. She should be looking forward to it, or at least not dreading it, but something bothered her. Leorah couldn’t quite surmise where to lay the blame.

  What mood would Lord Withinghall be in? He’d seemed almost friendly after he had proposed marriage to her and she had rejected him, especially the day she had met him in the library and convinced him to read Sense and Sensibility. She often thought with surprise of his enjoyment of the book. Was he still contemplating the plot and the characters?

  W
ell, his future wife would be arriving soon, possibly in time for dinner. Leorah half smiled, half frowned at her reflection to think of his proposal just a few weeks prior. What would Augusta Norbury think of that? Perhaps Leorah should assure Lord Withinghall that she had no intentions of ever letting Miss Norbury know of his proposal. And she had sworn her friends to secrecy as well. Perhaps that would set his mood to rights and ensure he would have an enjoyable time.

  She heard rushing feet and hushed voices in the corridor outside her bedchamber. A minute later, one of the maids stuck her head in and informed them that Mrs. Culpepper and Miss Norbury had just arrived.

  Her quiet reverie was now at a definite end. She’d be subjected to Miss Norbury’s and Mrs. Culpepper’s sour expressions and superior arrogance every day for the next month at least.

  Nevertheless, Leorah knew her duty, and she went down to greet them.

  Leorah entered the drawing room and found her mother and Julia sitting with their two new guests, taking tea. Leorah uttered the usual pleasantries, while Miss Norbury and Mrs. Culpepper answered in kind, although without the barest hint of a smile from either of them and no warmth in their voices at all.

  Not a hair was out of place on either of their heads, and though they had been traveling all day, nothing seemed to show it except perhaps for the saggy circles under Mrs. Culpepper’s gray eyes.

  Miss Norbury’s hair was a golden blond, so pale and lustrous that it was like the hair of a young child, with small golden curls plastered against her temples and beside her ears in perfect symmetry. Her eyes were pale blue, her skin flawless. By the look on her face and the upturned tilt of her nose, she knew she was beautiful enough—and rich enough—to catch a viscount.

  Conversation was slow and quiet—and dull. How Leorah longed to escape. Felicity and Elizabeth did not join them, and Leorah found herself daydreaming about her horse, Buccaneer. The doctor had said in another week she could ride again, but only a steady and calm mare or pony, not her high-spirited Buccaneer.